


everything you do [sends me higher than the moon]

by crossroadswrite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunken Shenanigans, Everyone is Alive and Nothing Hurts, FIGHT ME BRO, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek Hale, dumb boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Based off the prompt:</b> “I understand the whole sleep talking thing but what I don’t understand is the princess dragon dream and why I’m in it.”<br/>.<br/>When Derek opens his door to see Stiles standing there with four full suitcases, his massagers’ bag thrown over his shoulder, two big cardboard boxes that barely close and his demon cat cradled on the crook of his elbow all he can say is, “Why?”</p><p>Not “what” not “what happened stiles” not “get out” not “please let me kiss you this pinning thing is really getting old for me” not “why are you bringing satan into my home”.</p><p>Just a simple “why”.</p><p>He thinks that is the key question in his life. Just why, in general.</p><p>“I’m moving in!” Stiles announces cheerily, dragging a suitcase and little homewrecker inside with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything you do [sends me higher than the moon]

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [I Do Adore by Mindy Gledhill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eP5cJfVScGw). Listen to it and flail on the floor with me.

When Derek opens his door to see Stiles standing there with four full suitcases, his massagers’ bag thrown over his shoulder, two big cardboard boxes that barely close and his demon cat cradled on the crook of his elbow all he can say is, “Why?”

Not “what” not “what happened stiles” not “get out” not “please let me kiss you this pinning thing is really getting old for me” not “why are you bringing satan into my home”.

Just a simple “why”.

He thinks _that_ is the key question in his life. Just _why_ , in general.

“I’m moving in!” Stiles announces cheerily, dragging a suitcase and little homewrecker inside with him.

“Why?”

“Well, there might’ve been a little mishap at my apartment.”

“Did satan finally wreck it?”

Stiles hisses and pets his kitty, letting the suitcase plop down on the floor carelessly. “Glitter isn’t _satan_ , Derek. She’s just… demanding.”

The demon cat swishes its demon tail and _smirks_ evily at Derek. No, he’s not projecting. Cats are fucking evil and he doesn’t trust that face for one hot second.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Stiles resumes. “I might’ve exploded my apartment a little bit trying this new spell. The landlord kicked me out.”

“You exploded your apartment.” It’s supposed to come out as a question but Derek doesn’t think he has the strength to make it one. He can’t even say he’s surprised.

“Well, not _exactly_. I accidentally exploded a metric ton of fish guts all over the walls. The whole building still smells like fish. And after the goat incident the landlord said he was tired of my occult satanic ways and kicked me out on the spot.”

“And so you came to my house?”

Derek’s curious about the train of thought that had led Stiles into coming to him and not Scott or even Erica.

“I figured if I appeared at your door with all my stuff you wouldn’t turn me down.”

To be completely honest Stiles could appear at his door covered in pig guts and wrapped in wolfsbane and Derek would just step aside to let him in.

“Right,” he deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest. He presses his mouth together and lifts an eyebrow at Stiles, staring the words out of him.

“Please, Derek? It won’t be for long, just until I can find somewhere else to stay? And I promise I’ll pay for anything Glitter ruins.”

He lets his other eyebrow raise up slowly and tries very hard not to smirk.

“I’ll help you around the house and do the chores and everything. You won’t even notice me.”

He snorts derisively. If there’s something that could never happen, it’s Derek being able to not notice Stiles. He’s just so… _memorable_ , tangling up and spreading himself over everything until Derek finds himself walking down the street and seeing Stiles everywhere, finding him through scent and through action.

“Oh come on! I’m not that obnoxious.”

“Says the man who’s only here because none of his friends would take him.”

That’s gotta be it. Derek can’t find any other reason for Stiles to pick him to room with. It’s not like they antagonize each other like they used to. They’re friends, they hang out, Derek pines. The usual enemies turned allies turned friends stuff.

But he knows, he’s _aware_ that he’s far from being Stiles’ favorite person. Derek has no illusions about how much Stiles cares for him.

“Yeah,” Stiles says and scrubs at the back of his neck. “Sure.”

Derek squints at his hand, hearing catching the slight hiccup in his heartbeat.

He’s about to comment on it but Glitter jumps to the floor and starts prowling his loft. It’s all Derek can do not to growl her into a corner.

_That cat is the spawn of satan, heed his words._

“Just until you find a place for yourself,” he concedes.

Stiles punches the air. “Yes! Thank you thank you thank you. I promise you won’t regret this.” Something crashes in the kitchen followed by a loud hiss. “Starting _now_.”

«»

Living with Stiles is _hell_.

Derek has no idea how much longer he’ll be able to hold on and it’s only been two months.

Excluding the cat from hell that actually seems to be behaving herself (if you don’t count rubbing herself all over Derek’s legs and making him trip every time he tries to take a step) the list of Derek’s complaints is long and detailed. Like for example, Stiles has this stupid habit of walking around in large shirts and boxers and as if that wasn’t enough to almost give Derek a coronary sometimes those shirts are _his_.

He about has a nosebleed the first time it happens.

«»

Derek’s cooking breakfast, while lazily flipping through the morning paper and trying not to step on Glitter when he hears Stiles stirring.

He had come home late last night, way after Derek’s bedtime and had proceeded to stumble into everything he could possibly find on his way to the couch-bed he has been occupying.

(Derek’s seriously considering in investing on a second bed. Or maybe get another apartment? Restore the building he bought? It would have more space for Stiles and-)

Glitter finally leaves his feet alone to trot over to Stiles, most likely making him trip if the colorful curse words and the thumps are anything to go by.

“This is why you’re named Glitter,” he hears Stiles tell the cat. “You’re a goddamn nuisance.”

Derek grins down at the sizzling bacon and makes a mental note to record that sometime to use as ammunition.

Stiles pads his way into the kitchen barefoot and Derek makes a second mental note to passive-agressively buy him some slippers before he catches pneumonia and die.

(Nevermind they’re in summer. It still happens, okay. No what do you mean he’s overreacting, he’s absolutely not overreacting. He’s just being a conscious roommate.)

“Morning,” Stiles greets, voice still slow and rough from sleep.

“Mo-“ he starts and then chokes on the word when he half turns and sees Stiles wearing one of his v-necks, sprawling against the kitchen counter like he didn’t just commit an act of violence against Derek’s senses.

There’s no other way to put it.

This is an _act of violence._ He should get arrested for how good he smells right now, like him and Derek and sleep warmth and just a hint of sweat and cat fur. Derek is going to sue Stiles’ genetics because he’s pretty sure the way his mole dotted skin stands in contrast with the deep burgundy of the shirt, the way the v-neck makes the collar too wide so one of the sleeves is just on this edge of falling off his shoulder, leaving his collar bone and throat on full display that just makes Derek want to-

Yeah he’s pretty sure that right there is an attempt on his life.

“You okay over there big guy?”

Derek needs to go.

“I need to go. Right now. To the bathroom. Yes, that is the place I have to go to.”

Stiles frowns at him, but Derek is already power walking out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, where he dedicates himself to look down at his dick and give it a very stern talking to.

«»

So yeah, wearing his shirts somehow becomes a thing. An occasional thing but nonetheless a thing.

And Derek could live with that. He could power through this if it was only that that he had to worry about. But _no_ , Stiles had to go and be all domestic too.

He just had to go and coach Derek into doing laundry with him because _I could get lonely Derek, do you want me to get lonely? Who knows what kind of havoc I could wreck_ and so they start doing laundry together, side by side with their shoulders touching and Stiles throwing a sock at Derek and saying _Look I just socked you in the face_ before dissolving into giggles.

Derek feels bad for his future children and the dad jokes they’ll have to endure. Truly, he does.

And besides doing the goddamned laundry there’s Stiles always coming home and making a direct bee line to Derek just to say hi and announce he’s home even though he very well knows that Derek is a werewolf and can hear him get in and out of the loft.

He always makes sure to ask Derek how his day was and if he has anything planed and- and it’s _nice_ it’s so fucking nice it makes him want to just keep him here forever.

But he can’t. Because of a plethora of reasons.

And to top all of that, there’s also the cooking together. Third day of Stiles staying over Derek had found him in the kitchen, making something elaborate out of an old looking leather-bound book.

«»

“What are you doing?” Derek asks cautiously having been attracted to the kitchen by the delicious, mouthwatering smell rising from the pans on the stove.

Stiles jerks and points his wooden spoon at Derek, sending sauce flying and splattering him all over. “Stand back!”

“Stiles,” he sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Dinner. Duh.”

Derek hums, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes because _he can see that_. “I meant with the book and the waving your spoon around like you’re pretending to be Harry Potter.”

“Okay first of all, there’s no way I’d be Harry Potter. I’m way cooler. Like Sirius Black or something. Or that dude in the movie who stirred his cup with his finger while reading that science book. _Second_ of all I’m cooking you dinner. As a thanks, but you can’t be here because it’s my family’s super-secret recipe and I can’t share it with you unless I marry you.”

Derek tries not to get caught in the idea of marrying Stiles’ stupid face.

“That’s kind of-“

“It’s necessary I assure you. My babcia would know. She just _knows things_ , Derek. And then she would skin me. It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“I was going to say cute.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, lowering his swordsman stance and going to scrub at the back of his neck. “Well. It’s family tradition. You can’t break family tradition.”

It’s all Derek can do not to kiss him right then and there.

“And I suppose you could help me. If you don’t try to peek at the book.”

Derek very carefully doesn’t think of the implications that little request brings with it and shrugs his shoulder, leaning against the counter and letting Stiles direct him around the kitchen.

Derek could even be fine with the cooking, but the thing is whenever something in the food reacts badly with Derek’s werewolf senses Stiles writes it down in oddly carefully drawn calligraphy in the margins of the book and then he has to spend half a hour looking at himself in the bathroom mirror trying to convince himself that it means nothing and that getting his hopes up is an exercise in masochism.

«»

And because Stiles truly is a despicable person with the cooking also comes the buying random shit for Derek because he knows Derek likes it. Which is thoughtful, and sometimes a little silly if the growing collection of fridge magnets is anything to go by.

That’s not the worst part, though. The worst part is _Stiles himself_ and all his endearing little quirks that make Derek want to put on some Beyoncé so he can set the mood to put a ring on it.

Like when he plays with Glitter and gets this little indulgent goofy smile as he twirls his fingers and makes her jump after them, wrestling her down with one hand and letting her pounce on it and nibble on his fingers. The way Glitter always sprawls over one of his arms when he sleeps. The way he absent mindedly runs a finger down her spine and scratches just under her kitty chin when he’s focused on something.

Or how he’s messy with everything, but weird about not immediately cleaning the dishes and always adjusts the chairs around the kitchen table and around the bar claiming that he’s only being smart because he just knows sooner or later he’ll smack against them.

Then there’s the way he chews on _everything_. Pens, headphone wires, cutlery, his fingers, random pieces of clothing.

«»

“That’s my shirt,” he says with absolutely no inflection because he just can’t. He’s emoting too much internally to do it externally as well.

Stiles carefully takes the sleeve of one of Derek’s Henleys out of his mouth and flushes. “Sorry. I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s fine,” he assures and wonders why the universe hates him.

“Cool. Don’t worry man, I’ll put it in the wash before returning it.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Derek just needs to go for a run or something because this is getting ridiculous.

His home started smelling like him and Stiles.

Anywhere he goes there’s Stiles, being his annoying beautiful self and _smiling_ at Derek and it’s making things happen in his heart alright. Worrying things. Things that he should probably consult a doctor about.

He picks up his keys and heads for the door. “I’m going to the grocery store.” To buy a tub of ice cream and eat his feelings. “Do you need something?”

“Bring me candy.”

It’s only when Derek is picking up three of Stiles’ favorite candy without even having to take a second to wonder which candy to bring that it hits him like a freight train.

Stiles is going to find his own place and leave him. Obviously.

Of course he is.

Derek rubs at his chest, pressing down on the ache there and takes home three tubs of ice cream.

«»

Stiles wears mismatched socks, mostly because he’s too lazy to pair them properly.

Stiles’ nose scrunches up in the most adorable way when he tastes something he doesn’t like.

Stiles highfives himself after telling a pun and it’s weird because it just looks he’s clapping his hands.

(Derek starts indulging him and highfiving him once or twice. The look of pure delight is really not warranted.)

Like clockwork, once a week Stiles rearranges the vials with the different herbs and fluids and _things_ he uses for his magic and always makes sure to let Derek know he’s doing it so he won’t flip when he smells wolfsbane in his home. Afterwards he takes a really long shower and then strides up to Derek and demands to know if he still smells icky to him.

(Derek has smelled Stiles covered in blood and covered in mud and on one memorable occasion smelling like period blood because of some magic thing he had been doing and not once has Stiles smelled _icky_ to him. He should really be worried about that.)

Stiles never makes his bed and it drives Derek insane. At this point he just has a pile of blankets he dives under and curls up in weird positions.

(Derek makes his bed for him at least every three days and Stiles always teases him about it but he also smiles like Derek just got him a new gaming console and his favorite game to go with it.)

Stiles curses in polish. Sometimes he curses in polish _at_ Derek. When Derek curses him back in polish Stiles drops his mouth open and then laughs, argument forgotten, apparently utterly delighted and says, “Oh, I’m taking you with me for Christmas dinner when I go to visit my family with my dad. You’re not doing anything are you?”

Stiles dances around the house all the time, sometimes contained hip wiggling and humming sometimes full out Broadway productions. Once Derek had come home to Stiles in socks, shades and a white button down, sock sliding all over the apartment.

Stiles makes him sit down and watch TV shows with him and he has this annoying habit of keeping a running commentary of what they’re watching. Derek finds it annoying and when he asks Stiles if they’re watching a movie or if he’s training to be on the radio Stiles grins and tells him he can always gauge how much Derek likes a movie by how hard he shushes him.

Stiles sometimes falls asleep on his bed and the first time it happens Derek just turns right around and doesn’t even bother with stairs. He just vaults out of a window and tells himself that Stiles doesn’t like him like that and that he doesn’t get to keep Stiles.

Stiles also talks in his sleep.

«»

The first time it happens Stiles is taking a nap on the couch, sprawled out in what must be this world’s most uncomfortable position with Glitter happily purring all curled up on the small of his back.

Derek had been trying to authenticate a book for a client when he first hears Stiles mumbling and just thinks he’s awake.

“Stiles if you’re up could you go get pasta? We’re all out,” he calls but doesn’t get an answer, just more mumbling.

Derek pushes back from his chair and turns his head towards the couch, upsides of having a loft is being able to see everywhere without having to turn.

He sees Stiles still sprawled out on the couch with his cheek mashed into the couch and his heartbeat steady and slow.

Derek sighs because it just _figures_ that even in his sleep Stiles wouldn’t be able to shut up.

“Yeah Scott let’s save the princess,” Stiles mumbles and starts rubbing his cheek against the couch. “I’ll take care of the Derek.”

Derek’s eyebrows climb up and he turns his full body towards Stiles, squinting suspiciously as if he can see what’s going on in his mind if he tries hard enough.

“Hmmm, you have pretty eyes.”

Derek finds himself blushing and he’s not too sure why, so he goes back to his book and tries to ignore Stiles.

«»

The dream talking isn’t always nonsensical and fun though.

There’s bad dreams that have Stiles twitching and gasping and normally Derek is across the room and waking him up before he can fall deeper into it.

Sometimes he can’t wake Stiles before he’s so far into those dreams that he’s whimpering with it. The first time it happens is also, possibly, the worse.

He’s just getting home, back from his run, and it being a Sunday Stiles is still laying in bed sleeping soundly, or well, he normally would’ve been if he weren’t sweating through his shirt and twitching, smelling of panic so intensely Derek gags on it.

“No! Stop! Derek! Stop, please stop stop stop,” he whines and Derek’s heart sinks to the gutters, half afraid to reach out and wake Stiles up because what horrible things must Derek have been doing in Stiles’ dreams to get him like that.

In the end he can’t take how strongly he smells like panic and shakes him awake, prepared to step back and distance himself from Stiles as much as he can not to frighten him, but he never gets a chance to. As soon as Stiles wakes and his eyes focus he curls a fist in Derek’s tanktop and pulls him forward, almost making Derek fall on top of him.

“Easy, Stiles- Stiles are you alright?”

Stiles folds a little on himself, pressing his forehead to Derek’s chest and breathing heavily.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, just- let me just-“

“Okay,” Derek says as quietly as he can make it. “Okay take your time, it’s fine. You’re okay.” He tries to reassure, placing his hand on the back of Stile’s neck, trying to ground him like Derek’s father used to do for him when the moon was full and high and it got to be too much.

“You’re okay,” Stiles repeats and unclenches the fist around his shirt, taps all five fingers against Derek’s stomach before repeating, “You’re okay.”

It hits Derek like a punch to the throat that Stiles was dreaming about someone hurting Derek and _that_ was what sent him into such a state of panic.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, unsure and hears Stiles take in a shuddering breath and then let it out measured and slow.

“You’re okay.”

«»

The most recurring dream Stiles seems to have is the princess one. Sometimes there’s a dragon he has to take care of sometimes there’s a Derek.

Sometimes it’s the same scene sometimes it’s different ones. Sometimes Stiles just says “He’s not evil just _misunderstood_ ” followed by some gibberish about “ _call me later baby”_.

To say that Derek is beyond curious would be an understatement.

It all comes to head when the pack is over to get a little drunk off wolfsbane liquor. Derek is leaning against the counter limbs loosed and feeling utterly relaxed with his pack around him.

“Is he a nightmare to live with?” Isaac pipes up. “Does he pee on your sink because the bathroom is too far?”

Derek snorts and shakes his head, glancing over at where Stiles is trying to best Scott at Mario Kart even if by now they’re both too drunk to manage the controls.

“Nah, it’s- it’s nice. He’s nice. I like having him here. Feels more homey.”

“No peeing on the sink then?”

“No peeing on the sink.”

Erica leans lazily against Derek’s side and reaches across the counter for the bowl of popcorn.

“I bet he’s awesome to live with. I bet if he lived with me we could have America’s Next Top Model marathons and braid each other’s hair.”

Derek nods sagely because America’s Next Top Model marathons are something that happens even with him.

And then he stops because wait. Wait. Hold on, let’s take it back.

“Stiles didn’t ask if he could move in with you?”

Erica shakes her head sadly, looking a little bit offended. “How dare,” she mumbles. “I’m his best friend! Him and his _stupid_ ten year plan to woo Derek what an idiot even blew fish up all over himsef psshhht.”

“Ten year plan?” Derek asks incredulously, feeling more sober than he has in the last couple of hours.

Erica looks at him like a deer caught in the headlights and winces. “Oopsies.”

“Hey Derek, do you know where the- okay what’s with the face?”

“Ten year plan?” he asks a little breathlessly because- because he’s not the kind of guy that deserves a ten year plan, he’s not the kind of person that deserves Stiles’ dedication.

Stiles’ head snaps to where Erica is sliding down her stool gradually and hiding behind the counter. “How could you!” Stiles hisses and Erica whines, pulling her hair in front of her face.

“I’m soooooorry. I didn’t mean to!”

“Just for that I’m leaving all my comics to Scott when I die.”

Erica gasps, peeking over the counter’s rim, apparently horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

“You betrayed me Erica. I can’t entrust you with them.”

Derek frowns at them and opens his mouth to tell them they should go back to him and Stiles’ ten year plan to woo him because that is still making him confused. Stiles doesn’t like him like that. Why would- he doesn’t- what?

But instead of something coherent pouring out of Derek’s mouth what he says is, “I wanna know about the dragon and the princess dream and why I’m in it.”

Erica starts giggling madly and sinks back into the floor.

Stiles starts blushing and scrubs at the back of his neck.

“Is this about that weird Shrek dream you’re having?” Isaac pipes up.

“What’re we talking about?” Scott asks, walking in with a goofy smile.

“Stiles’ weird Shrek dream and his ten year plan to get the Hale booty.”

“The one where you’re a literal ass? And I’m Shrek. I think I’m still offended by that one,” Scott frowns.

Erica is wheezing on the floor. “He wants to have your weird cross-species babies!” she shouts before starting to laugh again, clutching her stomach with it.

“What.”

Nothing makes sense forever and Derek’s mind is too fuzzy for it to make sense now.

Stiles makes a desperate sound and smushes his face against Scott’s shoulder, muttering a very quiet, “Kill me now.”

Scott pats his head.

“Like you’re the dragon and Stiles is the donkey. From Shrek. And he tells you you have pretty eyes and woos you and then you have his weird donkey-dragon babies. His drakeys. Yeah,” Isaac says, pointing his glass of laced liquor at Derek and somehow he manages to keep his face straight like he didn’t just uttered the word drakeys.

“His drakeys!” Erica explodes, apparentely still set on her quest to actually die from too much laughter on the floor.

Derek frowns and looks over at Stiles who is currently trying to stretch Scott’s shirtsleeve enough so he can shove his head under it.

“So,” he starts, very carefully. “So he likes me?”

“No, he loves you,” Scott tells him, tilting his head a little. “I thought you knew? Everyone knows Stiles wants to elope with you and, like, build a shrine to your butt.”

“It’s a very nice butt,” Stiles mumbles, still attempting to hide under Scott’s shirtsleeve.

Scott pats him on the arm. “Yes it is buddy. You’re very good at picking nice butts.”

“Thank you.”

“No wait. Stiles doesn’t like me,” Derek says. “Because I like him and he doesn’t like me. That’s how it works.”

Stiles turns slowly to him. “What did you say?”

“You don’t like me.”

“No after?”

“That’s how it works?”

“No, before.”

“I like you.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out sounding a little bit in awe. “You like me? Like, for real, like like me?”

“Yeah.”

“But- but maybe not love right?”

Derek blushes and shrugs a shoulder. He doesn’t feel very comfortable doing this in front of everyone else and he will make sure he says it again when he’s not drunk but.

“Yeah. I wanna take you on dates and I want to keep you here living with me. Forever.”

“I’ve picked our kids’ names.”

“I like Clara.”

“I thought Jacy. It means wolf.”

“Stiles no.”

“Stiles yes!”

Derek laughs and shuffles forward, reaching for Sties almost coyly and Stiles carefully laces their fingers together before basically pouncing on Derek, pulling them flush against each other, noses touching and Derek almost can’t see Stiles’ smile, which is such a shame because Derek’s pretty sure Stiles’ smile is the reason the moon rises over the horizon every single night.

Except then Stiles is kissing him and he can feel that smile pressed against his mouth and this is better. So much better that Derek can’t help but wrap his arms around the small of Stiles’ back and lift him up a little so he has to tilt his chin up to kiss him and it’s everything.

“So you’ll stay?”

“Yeah.”

“And you won’t leave?”

“Nah.”

“And you’ll stop putting milk first and then the cereal and finally be a normal person?”

Stiles laughs and presses his mouth against Derek’s again and well Derek doesn’t really mind being shut up like that.

He’ll have forever to address that problem.

There’s no rush. Stiles isn’t going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> another fic, a handful of days have passed and i'm still here. being sterek trash.


End file.
